Free The Sword and the Sylph (Elemental Series) by Elizabeth Rose

her invisible form right now.
    “Did you hear something again?” the lady asked from his side. “Or are you just twitching in anticipation to get me alone later?”
    “Nay, I thought I felt something – a breeze,” he said.
    “I assure you Lord Braden , that his hall is very drafty. Any breeze is not out of the ordinary.”
    “Of course, you are correct.” He settled back down and continued eating.
    Portia felt certain she was going to enjoy their little outing this afternoon much more than Lady Christabel ever would.
     
    * * *
     
    Braden finished eating, sure he’d smelled lilacs in the room. And this bothered him because he knew it wasn’t his betrothed, as she smelled like rose water. Plus, he swore he heard a giggle and felt a breeze brush past his ear. He had no doubt in his mind that Portia-Maer was up to her little spy-antics again and he didn’t like it one bit.
    When the meal was finished, he helped his betrothed get to her feet and escorted her to the floor for a dance. The minstrels struck up a lively tune and though he didn’t want to dance he knew ’twas expected of him, so he continued. He bowed toward his betrothed, smiling, but her face was like a block of stone. Then he started the dance steps, stiff and proper, only wishing this would be over soon.
    And when he twirled her around, the oddest thing happened. His foot seemed to hit something on the floor and he stumbled forward. He’d knocked into her, almost causing her to fall, and the look she gave him could have taken down the strongest of warriors easily.
    “I apologize my lady. Something on the floor tripped me.” He looked down to the ground sure he was going to see a dog or possibly a small child underfoot, but none was there.
    “I’ve ne ver known the river rushes spewed across the floor to trip anyone, my lord. Perhaps you just had too much wine at the meal.” She pursed her lips and looked the other way, obviously embarrassed by his clumsiness.
    “Nay, not at all,” he said, continuing the dance and all the while looking down to the floor. He couldn’t understand it, he was certain something had blocked his path.
    Then they bowed toward each other once again, and he heard a ripping sound of cloth from behind him. He took his hand and felt the back of his tunic, surprised to find he’d split it some how.
    “Ate too much at the meal perhaps?” She spoke with a stonelike face, obviously seeing his torn tunic as well.
    “I don’t understand,” he said. “I’ve never had this problem before.”
    “Sir Braden, perhaps we should join the others by the fire instead of dancing,” she suggested.
    “ I agree,” he answered, thankful to be done with the dance. “I think that would be a fine idea.” He escorted her to the fire to join the others, all the while looking back over his shoulder wondering what just happened.
    At the fire they joined several of the lords and ladies of the castle, making pleasant conversation. A servant handed him some wine, and when he went to hand it to Lady Christabel, someone bumped his arm and it sloshed over the rim. She jumped back in surprise, lucky not to get any on her gown.
    “I am sorry my lady,” h e apologized once again, noticing no one behind him.
    “Did a n imaginary person bump into you again?” she asked snidely.
    Her words came crashing down around him as he suddenly realized ’twas indeed what happened.
    “Aye,” he said through gritted teeth. “I believe this castle to have at least one imaginary occupant at this time – and she is playing silly games that I don’t like in the least.”
    They were all looking at him strangely now and when Lady Christabel asked to be escorted to the lady’s solar to spend the rest of the morning sewing and weaving tapestries with the women, he sighed in relief. He didn’t know how much more of the fae’s mischief he could take.
    He escorted the woman to the solar and then hurriedly made his way to the practice yard where he planned